


Myopia

by Cornichons_are_Underrated



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Corporate Culture is a real thing, I hope not too ooc???, M/M, No One Is Sorry, Rachel young and Warren Kepler dynamic is bisexual solidarity but hard mode, Warren Kepler Has Feelings, Warren gets bullied, Warren needs glasses and that makes him sad thats it thats the fic, but are they valid?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornichons_are_Underrated/pseuds/Cornichons_are_Underrated
Summary: Upon the conclusion of the exam, the nurse’s expression of concern at such a sudden change in vision, which then became the realization that Kepler had been less than honest, then the surprise that Kepler had it within himself to lie to her for over ten years, then realization that she shouldn’t be surprised, and finally, an almost maternal face of disappointment nearly equaled the disappointment Kepler felt in himself for making her feel that way.Warren needs glasses. He waxes poetic about it.
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi & Warren Kepler & Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler, Warren Kepler & Rachel Young
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Touché

Warren Kepler had read over the email several times, and that, by its own merit, should disprove the diagnosis that was contained within its contents. Granted, it was a larger font than usual. Perhaps Florence, the company’s nurse practitioner, thought he wouldn’t pick up on the difference between the usual 12-point, medium weight, Garamond font from a 13-point, medium bold, but he did. While he knew it was only meant as an accommodation, the implications stung. He did not need glasses. A more logical part of his mind recognized his irrationality, and chided him for it. Somewhere, distantly he had been aware of his failing vision, but it never seemed like much of a problem. There was always a solution, a book light at his nightstand, voice prompts on his GPS, etc. Amidst his rapid ascent up the corporate ladder, he found little time to devote to such a small problem. Besides, Jacobi’s vision was far worse and the man rarely wore his glasses. (As Jacobi had argued, he only ever really needed it for work, and he had prescription lenses in his goggles and welding helmet.) Given how much paperwork and Excel charts the reality of his career expected from him, his deteriorating vision was no surprise. 

Granted, it wasn’t as shocking as when he had gotten less than 20/20 for the first time, but he was 25 then, and he was juggling grad school, and the Goddard internship, which included their basic training. With his aversion to laser eye surgery and contacts, along with the vain thought that he just looked better without glasses, he figured that memorizing the order to the letters on all of Flos eye charts was a good use of his time instead. Besides, it didn’t take very long. At 25 he didn't do morning stretches everyday and his back was fine. His knees didn’t hurt. He could drink on Sunday night and pass the Illinois state bar 10 hours later. 

He was not 25 anymore. And Flo, who seemed to be a permanent fixture in both Goddard’s past and foreseeable future, finally caught up with the rest of her associates in ‘futuristic tech’. She had changed the test this year, relying on some new tech from Med R&D. The monitor at a fixed distance would spit out random letters, symbols, safety hazard warnings, and street signs at an increasingly smaller size. And it was timed. R&D really does think of everything. Upon the conclusion of the exam, the nurse’s expression of concern at such a sudden change in vision, which then became the realization that Kepler had been less than honest, then the surprise that Kepler had it within himself to lie to her for over ten years,  _ then _ realization that she shouldn’t be surprised, and finally, an almost maternal face of disappointment nearly equaled the disappointment Kepler felt in himself for making her feel that way. 

But most prominently, it made him feel old. This old feeling was different from the discovery in his early twenties when he found out that he would have to stretch every morning. Today he didn’t feel like “Warren Kepler: Board Director of the World’s Largest Tech Conglomerate by His Thirties” he just felt like “Warren Kepler: Myopic at Thirty Seven.” 

The email was succinct and professional, all costs were of course covered by Goddard’s good graces (and impeccable private health insurance). He was instructed to talk to Flo about possible solutions at his convenience, preferably before the end of the financial quarter to keep expenses in order. 

A swift knock at his office door made him keenly aware of his squinting and just how close he was leaning into his laptop screen. A headache settled between his brows. 

“Come in,” he called out, closing his laptop with a soft click as he corrected his posture. He could still read, and with the new VX engine about to finish patent, he was busy acquiring intel about rival tech. He would worry about this later. 

  
  


He did not worry about this later. 

He instead did something he hadn’t seen himself do since compulsory education: he procrastinated. It wasn’t logical, and the longer he waited, the more he found himself motivated against doing anything about it. He managed to remain mysteriously out of Flo’s reach for the next two weeks, with the uncanny business meeting or any other innocuous corporate rituals taking the place where their schedules usually aligned. He was fine, he reasoned, the increasingly accusatory emails from Flo were the cause for his constant headaches, not the hours spent squinting at a screen. 

He was incredulous at his own self, he knew myopia is not something that is acutely contracted like a virus or infection. It was a symptom of senescence. Worsening vision was a slow almost imperceptible descent. However, since that email, it was as if he’d open a myopic black box. Every moment where he leaned forward, or caught himself rolling a knuckle at his temple to chase away a headache, the email had come to mind.

Worst of all, it had actually begun to affect his work performance. Warren could see it, and he didn’t even have to squint. He was snappier. Reports were slightly shorter, and they took him longer to write. To anyone else, Kepler would have appeared to be perfectly, almost unnervingly fine despite his stressful and demanding position. His reports remained timely and professional, his conduct in meetings were the same varying levels of chipper and petty in proportion to his distance with Rachel Young. However, it was painfully obvious that his crew noticed too. A part of him felt pride, seeing how much Jacobi and Maxwell had improved in observation. Another part of him was less impressed by their seeming inability to ever improve in masking their own tells. It was normal to see the two perched at each other's desks, each other’s labs, sharing snacks and gossip. But lately he’d feel Maxwell’s owl-like eyes on him then dart away quickly as she moved to whisper something to Jacobi. They walked eggshells around him, keeping a wide flight zone armed with terrible excuses that Kepler really didn’t have the time to entertain. He was sure that whatever their overactive imaginations cooked up was far worse than the reality. When he waved them off with resignation it only seemed to wind the two up further. 

It was three weeks of avoidance when he had the wonderful displeasure of accompanying Ms. Young to a business meeting at a ritzy modern restaurant in Seattle. 

“As I understand, when Mr.Cutter said accompanying he did not mean chauffeur.” He said as he took a hard right at an intersection, not hard enough for Young to mess up the application of her lipstick, but enough to make her glare at him. Her displeasure cut through his present cloud of gloom like a breath of fresh air. 

“You’re the one that insisted you drive,” she returned, her voice was saccharine and it dripped with her usual condescension when she directed it at him. “I swear, the only thing that rivals the grip you have on controlling  _ literally everything, _ is how tightly you clench your ass.” 

He sent her a withering side glance. It has been long since understood between the two of them that bickering was their only form of effective communication. 

“And why, Am I driving? Where’s Helios? Does Miss Young think so little of her target so as to not show all we have to offer?”

Normally he wouldn’t complain, but Seattle traffic. Seattle drivers. He’s in a mood and Rachel had given him virtually no intel prior to boarding the flight. Despite the fact that this was low stakes and according to Mr.Cutter,“a great way to let my two favorite team members have some fun on the coast,” the lack of intel was making him more grumpy than he already was. So he entertained, welcomed even, the venom Rachel directed at him. It was a refreshing outlet. 

“Target. Really Warren, you should spend less time doing fieldwork. It’s for our  _ client _ ,” Then she sighed as if she really was disappointed that she couldn't take out the company car, and deflated against the back of the flashy red leather of the passenger seat. 

“I would normally you’re right.” She admitted, “But I’m meeting some nameless young CEO of a ‘progressive independent company.’” she curled two fingers imitating quotations, “they had good ideas, but no sense of business. Marcus is trying to reach out to a younger crowd of business people.” her face scrunched in disapproval, “Apparently analog is getting trendy again and first impressions are important. Hence, this classic beauty right here.”

“I wouldn’t call a Bugatti with red leather a classic.”

“That’s because you’re old Warren”

It was hard not to react to those words and Kepler set a purposeful intention to…. unclench. “I’m not old,” he inwardly winced at his quick response. Rachel cocked an eyebrow up in amusement. “Touchy subject?”

“No.”

He then swung the car into a graceful parallel park only a few feet away from the restaurant where they were meeting their  _ client.  _ He directed a smug smile at Young. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, fished a fiver from her pant suit pocket, and handed it over to him. He didn’t find Metropolitan parking. Metropolitan parking found him. 

  
  


To both Kepler and Young’s irritation, the nameless CEO (who definitely had introduced himself at some point but he couldn’t be bothered to remember it), had chosen a restaurant named Touché. The boy, really, he couldn’t be more than 26, sat waiting at an empty table in a dimly lit area of the restaurant, looking overly enthusiastic. Kepler’s joints ached just looking at him. The restaurant was expensive, kitschy and insubstantial, much like the kid who chose it. A pale, poor excuse for what they were supposed to be but nonetheless thinking too much of themselves. 

The kid greeted them with an irritating smile and held out his hand. “Ah, Miss Young! Good to finally meet my new partner face to face.” Rachel’s smiled and returned the gesture, her eyes glittered with annoyance as if to say,  _ interesting words, peon.  _

Touché was a concept restaurant, explained the kid, the owner’s cousin's ex-girlfriend’s brother was an Olympic fencer, hence the fencing themed eatery. In order to get the attention of the waitstaff, one simply has to raise a small plastic rapier that sat at each table to which the waitstaff would respond in confirmation: “Touché!”

Kepler mentally went through the past quarter wondering if he and Young had done anything to upset Mr.Cutter. How could this be anything other than retribution? 

Rachel’s increasing irritation was poorly hidden under a thinning veil of professionalism. As their discussions went on; he found the kid edging further away from Rachel, who was slowly leaning forward. What she wanted was simple. The kids' business was tanking and he was looking for some venture capital to bail him out because he ran out of Daddy’s oil money. Ideally the kid would give up the patent for the right price. If not he could be a GM for a very minor branch that would inevitably fail and they would get the patent a little later. Given the frivolous nature of the children of the affluent Kepler was betting on the former. 

While he usually would love to dominate the conversation at any time, the members attending the dinner did not elicit any desire from him to regale and charm. Instead Kepler’s role was simply to listen and observe. As much as everyone at Goddard wanted this kid to be as inconsequential as he was unimpressive, his father was a rich and powerful man. Any information that could be gleaned from the kid would go directly from Kepler to Mr.Cutter. There were a few juicer bits and pieces, the occasional slip into where his father placed investments into which tech, but he was honestly ready for this to all be over. 

By the time the waitstaff came by with dessert menus, Rachel had successfully intimidated the kid, who looked thoroughly depressed but determined enough to last through dessert before signing his patent away. When Kepler looked down at his own menu, the dim lighting and small cursive print made it impossible for him to read. He brought out his phone and used the light from the screen to illuminate the text. Then he heard Rachel hold back a snort, directed at him. 

Rachel’s laugh was piercing as it broke through, as she slapped her hand on the table. Had she been so devoid of actual entertainment that she felt it necessary to attack him like this for any source of enrichment? Clearly she felt that there was no risk to breaking her professional facade, but somehow her show of emotion caused an even more terrified expression on the kids’ face. She faced him, eyes dazzling in delight, “You ARE grumpy because you need glasses!” She proclaimed loudly, enough so that a couple of people at other tables glanced their way. 

Kepler kept his face calm, “...remember where you are Miss Young…” he hissed out between clenched teeth.

Rachel wiped away a tear, “Oh no, Warren I know exactly where I am. Your little intimidation technique? It doesn’t scare me.” She trailed off in chuckles and the kids' eyes bounced between her and Kepler, unsure what to do. 

“You’re  _ so  _ dramatic, did you know Daniel was actually worried enough to ask me if I knew anything?” Ah. So that’s how she found out. “And then Flo told me a couple days ago that you’ve been avoiding her?” Whatever happened to doctor patient confidentiality? 

Rachel, ever resourceful in finding endless ways to make everyone around her suffer, noticed how uncomfortable the kid looked, and pounced, leaning forward into the kids space once again, “Do you understand why he’s upset?” 

All confidence that the boy had coming into this dinner left him long ago leaving only despondent obedience. “Because he needs glasses?” 

“Because he needs glasses! Yes! But do you know what that means to him? He’s almost 40, he’s feeling—”

Before she could finish the sentence Kepler slipped the contract Rachel had come with into the kid’s view. Mission success was a priority after all. 

“Sign.” He said using his Blunt Force Trauma Face, of which the effect was hampered by Rachel’s guffaw. 

Still the kid obeyed. He did not last through dessert. 

She raised the little plastic deco rapier that adorned the table, catching the attention of a tired waiter who brought the check. She winked at the kid standing up to gather her things, “Thanks sweetheart!” She called behind her trailing after a very quiet Kepler, toward a very, very expensive car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO so i have fun with rachel. I love her sm. kepler deserves this, im not sorry. Also he isnt old hes just dramatic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone @ kepler: “I don’t know what your problem is and why you’re being so dramatic -- don't glare at me like that -- but these are for you, so stop sulking about it and wear them"

Somewhere between Touché and their hotel, Kepler cooled off. This was mostly due to the phone call Young made to report to Mr. Cutter. His emphatic, “Good Job you crazy kids! Of course, I expected no less from the two of you,” came with the assent that they could leave tomorrow which mercifully cut short the time he had to spend in close quarters with Young.

Kepler sat on his hotel bed scrolling through emails on his phone while he waited for his turn to use the bathroom. Young peaked her head out and presented a small manilla package from her toiletries bag. Kepler eyed the package suspiciously and leaned slightly away from the doorframe where she stood, recalling her secret santa gift four years ago. They haven’t drawn each others’ names since, which was most likely not a coincidence. 

She rolled her eyes and shook the package with more emphasis. 

“I don’t know what your problem is and why you’re being so dramatic -- don't glare at me like that -- but these are for you, so stop sulking about it and wear them, we nearly missed three exits just going to Touché.” She made a face of disgust when she said the name of the restaurant.

Inside the package was a bubble wrapped leather glasses case. 

“Compliments from Mr. Cutter,” Warren stiffened, of course Cutter would have access to such intel, but a cold creepy feeling ran down his spine with the acknowledgement that he was taking a personal interest in this

“He chose the frames.” Rachel continued, “He said it would ‘flatter your infuriatingly handsome face.’” 

Inside was a pair of simple but elegant round glasses in a thin copper colored metal frame.

“He also says that he recommends getting laser eye surgery at some point though, just in case you get an assignment spaceward, but those glasses are ANSI standard safety frames with a bit more Goddard flare.” She wiggled her fingers at the last word for emphasis. 

Kepler cocked his eyebrow making eye contact with Young in restrained curiosity, “Spaceward, huh. How is that going by the way?”

Rachel made a face he couldn't quite decipher. She might have looked tired, somehow older as if the weight of her job was almost affecting her, despite Young's refusal to age the smallest amount (honestly 8 years of working together and she looks the same, and while one would usually apply the same complaint to Kepler, recently, it didn't _feel_ like it should apply to him). 

“Oh you know, Marcus is just demanding the impossible and threatening that failure will result in serious physical and spiritual harm. Like he always does.” 

He nodded in understanding, a beat of silence passed before the pressed on almost awkwardly, “And you?Are you alright?”

Kepler and Young didn’t do this. They didn’t ask how eachother was because it didn’t matter. Mission success mattered. Progress mattered. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked nor was he expecting an answer. He perhaps assumed that either Rachel wouldn’t hear him over the sound of her toothbrush across her teeth, or she would ignore it. What followed immediately after his words, however, was a mixture of horror and disgust. Rachel shuddered. 

She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth before saying,“Don't do that. It's creepy when you act like you care about me.” 

He smiled in response, “Oh but Miss Young, it would be rude of me not to care.” Another shudder and a glare was directed at him. He stepped aside to allow Rachel to vacate the bathroom.

She promptly turned off the hotel room lights and set an alarm on her phone, making it obvious that he was not going to get an answer to his question. In the end they both successfully avoided talking about what bothered them, and each offered little council to the other. It was a comforting status quo. 

Before going about his nightly routine, he considered the reflection staring back at him in the mirror. The hotel bathroom had a large mirror with modern lights that hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room and its inhabitants in a flattering golden hue. Allowing a moment of vanity, Kepler acknowledged that time had been kind to him. His sharp wilder look of his youth had turned into a refined severity. His recklessness was replaced with experience. He put the glasses on and, to his chagrin, he could indeed see better. Not only that, but the warm color of the frames complimented his own skin tone well, and the thin style paired with the shape of the lens didn't add any years to his face. He grimaced. The man may be terrifying, but one had to admit that Marcus Cutter had style. 

* * *

The plane ride back was uneventful, the acerbic verbal dance between Kepler and Rachel briefly returned to their usual tempo. Rachel was furiously sending emails to her department, no doubt leaping into her next assignment so as to not fall behind in her work. Kepler kept himself busy by analyzing the progress of Jacobi and Maxwell’s latest project, which had been running behind due to the two’s inability to focus on a single project at a time. Kepler quickly discovered that on their own Jacobi and Maxwell both had little issue sticking to timelines and managing projects. However when collaborating, the collective chaotic genius and creativity proved too powerful for any one concept, and they became easily distracted by all the possibilities they could achieve together. The results of their teamwork was well more than worth it, but they relied on Kepler’s level headed nature to keep them on track. The three of them made a good team in that way. 

And Kepler had managed to worry them. Considering that the two had been ahead of schedule prior to Kepler’s sudden and inexplicable change in behavior, this time their tardiness fell to no one but himself. They no doubt assumed much worse of the whole situation than what it really was, and put aside their work to conspire together. Or to gossip. He found he couldn’t blame them, it was his own actions that started it all, and over the years he found himself harmonizing with the two in a way he hadn’t with any other team before. Their worry for him was not unwelcome, and didn’t bother him the way it would if others had acted in the same way. He knew it meant that the two were simply worried for him, and instead of feeling defensive, he just felt guilty. 

Before the separate self-driving cars Helios and Selene came to pick them up and deliver them home, Kepler stopped Young with a polite hand on her shoulder. She turned around exasperated by all of Kepler’s insistence for her to step out of their usual dynamic, nonetheless remained silent waiting for Kepler to speak.

Kepler swallowed his pride as if it were a plastic deco rapier. He knew that in order to remain effective in his job, to remain an asset instead of a sacrifice, he relied on a smooth dynamic with his crew. Considering Jacobi went to Young instead of talking to Kepler directly, this was not happening as of late. For the sake of his pride of which he had a lot of, he would normally never show this kind of insecurity. However, for his crew, he would do almost anything. 

Kepler cleared his throat, “Miss Young, what had Mr.Jacobi discussed with you?” 

Rachel just rolled her eyes. “Honestly _Major Kepler,_ you're more pathetic than—“ Rachel blinked and snapped her fingers as if trying to remember something , “what was the name of that sorry excuse for a CEO?” Kepler shrugged, he never bothered to learn. Rachel continued unperturbed, “Not important. We got his patent, he's irrelevant now. Anyways,” she fixed him with a stare that conveyed both gloating and compassion (though in Rachel’s case the closest she could get to compassion was pity) “if you feel so bad for making your adorable lap dog worry, ask Daniel yourself.” With that, Rachel Young swung herself into Selene’s plush seating and the car door swung down. 

* * *

The next morning he found Jacobi and Maxwell both already present when he approached his office. The only way that the occurrence ever came to be was when the two simply did not go home, which happened more often than Kepler would have liked. Besides the three of them, their floor was empty, and the lights were dimmed. They were sitting cross legged on the floor outside his office door, sharing a bag of banana chips that they squeezed dollops of almond butter on top of from little to-go packets before consuming. The chips and almond butter Kepler recognized as complimentary snacks procured from the break room, and a brief glance at the stack of empty coffee cups next to the two implied that it had been a productive night. 

Maxwell as usual brought a change of comfier clothes, loose sweatpants and a hoodie, both of which looked suspiciously like they better fit Kepler or Jacobi. Sometime during the night she had taken her socks and shoes off and they sat next to her work clothes which lay in a small, wrinkled heap. Jacobi had just unbuttoned the top button of his untucked dress shirt and taken off his belt, which was curled up into a neat spiral set in one of his shoes that laid next to him. Inexplicably, he had two socks on his left foot, and one sock on his right. 

When Kepler approached his office door to unlock it he looked at Jacobi’s double socked foot and then to the two of them, raising one brow in question. 

“Jacobi’s toe was sticking out of the hole. It was gross.” Maxwell explained.

Jacobi scoffed, “Now my toe essence is in your sock, I hope you’re happy.” He stuck his left foot out and jabbed her thigh with his big toe. 

She wrinkled her nose at the words “toe essence” and edged away from him, “Keep the sock. It’s yours now.” Kepler nodded at the explanation, being used to this sibling-like banter from them. 

“I hope that’s not breakfast,” Kepler said before walking into his office. Noises of exasperation came from the two, “We’re still getting our macros!” Maxwell griped, shaking the almond butter packet. Her movement sent a chunk of almond butter sailing over her head before splattering on Kepler’s office door. Maxwell grinned sheepishly. Her voice dipped into an apology as she leaned over and swiped it off with her thumb, then without hesitation, popped it into her mouth. Kepler gave her a tired look.

As he busied himself with starting his work day, draping his suit jacket over his chair and opening his laptop, He called out to the two, still sitting outside his office, “I would imagine Miss Young has no more information to give you than I do.” 

The quiet rustling went silent as the two went still. Then he saw Jacobi, senior most of the two, peak his head out into view. He didn’t make eye contact as if doing so were to challenge Kepler, “We were just worried is all sir, we thought we were getting split up or somthing.” 

Kepler’s expression didn’t change, his voice remained steady, “And you thought Rachel Young would have that information?” The unusual, flat, tone of his voice was usually saved for the rare interrogation he conducted when mission success required it. He didn’t usually use that tone on his subordinates. 

Jacobi's expression turned more indignant, he never had that much patience for leading questions. Despite Young’s nickname for Jacobi he was no lapdog. While Maxwell and Jacobi followed Kepler’s leadership, he knew it was only because they determined Kepler worth following. He was thankful for that.

Jacobi stood up, and went to stand at a parade rest in front of Kepler’s desk as if he was going to give him a regular report. Posturing to demand more respect than an interrogation. Jacobi was looking for an explanation. 

“Sir, you weren’t telling us anything.” He sniffed and straightened his shoulders, “I was outsourcing information.” 

Kepler just stared at Jacobi, unimpressed. Jacobi returned the stare. Maxwell, with her owl-eyes observed the silent conversation. The atypical strain on the three’s dynamic hung thick in the air. “We’re not getting split up,” Kepler broke the silence, “as for my behavior as of late, while I appreciate your…. concern, it’s none of your business, the situation has been resolved.” Jacobi and Maxwell remained stiff and tense despite the assurances, or rather, _because_ Kepler was reassuring them. 

Kepler changed tactics. “What is your business is project BABEL, which, if you two had the time to poke your nose in places that they had no business being, then surely,” he leaned back in his chair, smiled wolfishly, and spread his arms out wide, voice pitching back into a tone his subordinates were more accustomed to, “surely, you both have made considerable progress in this _priority one_ project. The folks at R&D are anxious to start prototype manufacturing.”

When Jacobi realized that he wasn’t going to get an explanation out of Kepler he satisfied himself with the thought that at least his boss was once again behaving as his normal, irritating self. He huffed and said, “We’ll have a progress report on your desk by EOD sir.”

“I expected as much. Mr.Jacobi, Dr.Maxwell, you two are dismissed, please make yourselves presentable before the rest of the office comes in.”

Jacobi nodded and padded out of the office in socked feet pausing to bend down and pick up his shoes, belt, and empty coffee cups from the floor. Maxwell in turn slipped into his office, silently on bare feet.

Kepler, without looking up from the work on his desk said “There's a fresh change of your clothes in my closet.”

Maxwell said nothing, but remained standing in front of him. Over time her rebellious attitude morphed into respect as she and Kepler learned how to push each other in the right places, but her stubborn streak remained unchanged. Kepler looked up, waiting for her to say what was on her mind. 

“Nearsightedness isn’t a death sentence.” She said it simply, with little judgement or pity. He found himself unsurprised that the brilliant Dr.Maxwell had picked up on the issue. Kepler briefly considered asking Maxwell to recall the discussion of coworker privacy they had. But considering she had kept that information from Jacobi, he decided some progress was being made. Instead, he stayed silent knowing by the set of her jaw, that Maxwell had more to say. The young woman was as wise as she was intelligent and he found that she was more than worth listening to. 

“I’m not going to assume what your eyesight means to you, and I don’t know what you’re more afraid of: what your losing or what you never got to have,” she shifted uncomfortably, toeing an unspoken boundary of their professional relationship, “but you’re--,” she paused before steeling herself to deal criticism to her CO, “you’re being nearsighted in other ways. As Jacobi would say in a larger, more philosophical way? It’s not like you. He was worried. I don’t like it when he worries. That’s all.” She trailed off awkwardly and left without being dismissed, not that she ever really waited for it normally, but her words still rattled Kepler’s thoughts. What was he losing? What did he never get to have? He supposed that, in another life, one where he wasn’t intimately woven into Goddard Futuristics’ Operations from a young age, he would have been content in accepting his failing vision. After all, as the doctor so simply put, it was no death sentence. But in his line of work, which had consumed his entire being years ago, it was a reminder of the day he inevitably would cease to be useful.

In the solitude of his office, he put the glasses on to start working. The fact he had waited until both Jacobi and Maxwell left, made him feel a bit of shame creeping their fingers across his shoulders. He was reminded, darkly, of a joke Major Littlewood had said shortly before Cutter had made an example of the previous director, 

_"Look: when you got a pig that good?” Major Littlewood said as he jabbed an index finger at Colonel Kepler’s left shoulder “You don't eat it in a single sitting."_

  
He wondered how much of himself was left. The glasses seemed to send a message. He could read the unspoken message Mr.Cutter sent with the glasses, _You have a choice, be a sacrifice or an asset. This is an opportunity more generous than I would give most people._ It didn’t feel like much of a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. i update slow sorry,,, but also thank you for reading and for commenting everyone!!! Aslo theres prolly some typos so I apologize i just wanted to get this posted before work!


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